


Like a House on Fire

by creascendo



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7121698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creascendo/pseuds/creascendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jarvis doesn’t make a habit of interfering in Howard Stark’s life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a House on Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paperclipbitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbitch/gifts).



> This fic starts shortly before season 2 and overlaps with the first 3 episodes. There is some "blink and you'll miss it" Angie/Peggy. 
> 
> All my thanks to B for the lightning-quick beta and unflinching concrit, and to L for the much needed encouragements and read-through.

A good friend listens to your adventures,  
a best friend makes them with you.  
_Unknown author_

 

It came unexpectedly. The sort of realisation that creeps on the mind when one is finally — after a series of trials — allowed to rest. To someone else, it would have been neither remarkable nor unwelcome. However, Jarvis had been comfortable within the boundaries of his obligations. Certainly never interfered in his employer’s private affairs. Except, of course, when it had meant saving Ana’s life. 

Fitting, then, that his employment with Mr Stark had started with a breach between privacy and duty. After all, Mr Stark was a different sort of man than the general. He posed a different sort of challenge. 

For one, he possessed the rare resourcefulness of inventors; the ability to put a failure or accidental discovery to use. A type of brilliance too easily harnessed by self-interested parties as Jarvis’s time with Miss Carter had bluntly illustrated. 

And so, it was only as he labelled jars of kitchen spices that Jarvis realised he wished to get involved in Mr Stark’s life. 

Involved, that is, beyond the basic need to prevent the man from extinguishing all life.

 

_Jarvis brought the soufflé into the dining room. "Was today’s research fruitful, sir?"_

_"Compound 639-XTF improved the strawberries’ colour and taste. But it also made them poisonous."_

_"Ah, I see."_

 

For weeks after the recovery of his inventions, Mr Stark’s guilt had resurfaced at odd moments. There, Miss Carter’s interference was better suited, but Jarvis found himself increasingly concerned by Mr Stark’s well-being with no way to offer support. 

When Mr Stark resettled to Los Angeles, Jarvis privately welcomed the change. 

If not the increased time spent memorising the personal details of starlets.

 

_"Are you sure she’s married to my leading man?"_

_"Yes, Mr Stark."_

_"And you’re quite sure they don’t have an understanding?"_

_"Ah,_ quite _certain."_

 

By June 1947, Jarvis rather thought his situation had regressed with the relocation. Mr Stark had a large circle of acquaintances, but few intimate friends. Jarvis — an expatriate with a generally guarded temperament and bound by the responsibilities of a butler — had fewer still. Miss Carter had been a true friend, someone to whom he could offer mutual, candid support. 

For a time, Jarvis had hoped Mr Stark’s new occupations would clear his mind even if it meant moving away from Miss Carter.

Instead, he found himself stuck in a sort of limbo; Mr Stark had withdrawn wholly into his work, and Jarvis flinched at presuming on friendship. True, Mr Stark had relied on him increasingly, confided in him during their time in New York, but it may have been a due to Miss Carter's presence. A sort of cordiality by proximity.

And so, he resolved not to encroach upon Mr Stark's privacy.

His role as go-between, however, tested this resolve. Never more so than with the approach of Project Rebirth's anniversary.

"Truly, how is Howard?" Miss Carter's words were garbled under transcontinental static.

Jarvis readjusted the phone piece. "I believe this is an instance in which Mr Stark’s lack of awareness serves him well. He was under the impression that yesterday was the 1st of May."

"A month off isn’t so bad. Perhaps the day will slip him by."

"Perhaps."

"Mr Jarvis, I can hear you tugging your ear across a continent."

"Your friendship has been a great comfort to him. Last year..."

"Last year we spent the day eating fondue, reminiscing and enabling each other in our grief. I fail to see how this could be called a 'great comfort'."

"You sell yourself short. I observed a marked improvement in his state of mind. And in yours if I may be so bold."

There was only static for a moment. "I do not make a habit of indulging in gloomy thoughts. Though, I am glad to hear Howard is doing well."

"Yes, the picture studio is proving a less corrosive endeavour."

"If you can’t save the world, entertain it?"

Jarvis fumbled for words. "Miss Carter—"

"That was mean spirited of me. Please forget what I said."

"May I ask? That is to say… is everything alright between yourself and Miss Cartinelli?"

"Oh! Yes, thank you. Simply—" Jarvis strained to hear her voice over the line’s crackling "—you may be right: melancholy suits this particular anniversary." 

"Given the opportunity, I would be at your side in a heartbeat. As would Mr Stark."

Static overtook the line, but Miss Carter’s tone was sure when she replied. "I cannot expect you and Howard to drop everything for my sake."

Jarvis did not insist.

 

*

 

Project Rebirth was Mr Stark’s only success. Or so he had claimed the previous year, inebriated.

Later, Miss Carter had confided to him, "He said the same when he was under Fennhoff’s influence. I thought nothing of it at the time."

Sorrow was indeed a staple of the anniversary. 

This year, with both parties tied down on opposite coasts, Jarvis worried about Mr Stark wallowing in self-pity. 

"Edwin, he is too busy working at the studio to remember the date. Who is to say his head won’t stay in the clouds?"

"I hope you’re right. I could rest easy if Miss Carter were here."

Ana closed her novel over her forefinger. "If you don’t think work will suffice, then keep him occupied when he is home."

"I doubt Mr Stark will be interested in my projects. Indexing the library and physical fitness routines?" He scoffed.

"No, silly. Give him his own project, you know how he gets. Didn't he say he wants to collect animals for a menagerie? And the orangery still needs refurbishing."

 

*

 

By early June, Jarvis had set to occupy Mr Stark as best he could. His mother had often said that busy minds knew no evil. 

In Mr Stark’s case, he would settle for no evil that brought media of police attention.

"And these are still awaiting your decision," Jarvis said. He handed Mr Stark a list of 68 items.

"Didn’t I already settle this yesterday?"

"This is the updated list, sir. I have compiled it after consulting with the contractor, the new gardener, the—"

"All right. All right." Mr Stark slumped in his chair and shot the list a distrustful look. Jarvis was put in mind of a boy eyeing a plateful of broccoli. "I’ll have to think about the orangery tile. Unless… Do you think Ana could pick? She has a good eye for colour."

"Certainly, sir." Jarvis smiled before adding, "I shall ask her to provide you with a list of colours."

"Ugh!"

 

*

 

Two days before the anniversary, Jarvis found himself with more to do than he had expected. If Mr Stark had been kept busy with decisions, it left the implementation to Jarvis.

"I hope this is the last addition to the menagerie," he said as he shooed three peacocks away from the blue-and-yellow macaw.

Outside the bird enclosure, Ana sat and pored over colour catalogues. "You know, I think pink would be lovely in the orangery after all. The green leaves would offset the pink-orange clash."

"I trust your eye, my d—" Jarvis startled at the macaw’s screech and briskly exited the enclosure. Relieved, he joined Ana at the wood and wrought iron bench.

She handed him the books. "For Mr Stark. I’ve marked my suggestions for the ceramic tiles."

Jarvis leaned in to peck her cheek, but was pulled back down for a thorough kiss. Leading the way back to the mansion, Ana rather looked like the cat that got the cream.

On his way to the study, Jarvis noticed a car pulling into the driveway. Mr Stark had returned early from the studio with a guest: a young woman with a frank attitude and a wardrobe that would meet Ana’s approval.

"Miss Diaz is the location scout for my next venture." Mr Stark introduced her, as Jarvis brought refreshments to the study. "We’ll be working for the rest of the afternoon, Mr Jarvis. No need to trouble us."

At six sharp, Jarvis sought them out in the gardens to inquire about their dinner plans. They were discussing botany as Miss Diaz inspected the woody vines clinging to the gazebo’s lowest tier.

"Shall I prepare dinner for two?"

"Thank you, but no." Miss Diaz did not look up. She jotted down notes in a leather bound notebook as she spoke, "I wouldn't want to intrude. We can discuss this at the meeting next week."

"Stay for dinner. I insist. Besides, I have other locations you could scout." Mr Stark’s leer and smirk were lost on Miss Diaz who hummed in vague agreement.

"You have an impressive array of plants, Stark."

"It’s picturesque, wouldn’t you say? Give it a few hours, the sunset makes everything glow." Mr Stark rolled to the ball of his feet and nodded to himself, cocksure.

"Have you thought about shooting scenes here? With a few modification, you would have a convincing Amazonian forest." She crouched to examine a purple orchid.

Mr Stark’s smile faltered.

 

*

 

All in all, Jarvis had high hopes for the 22nd. 

That morning, Mr Stark appeared in good spirits; to his surprise, Miss Diaz had agreed to visit his West Coast properties. Ostensibly to scout locations.

As he finished breakfast, Mr Stark said, non-sequitur, "I like a challenge. I do," he insisted when Jarvis didn’t reply. "It’s too easy sometimes."

Jarvis paused as he collected the dishes onto a tray. "Yes, sir. I am well aware." 

"Gloria lost me a few times with all the plant talk, but she’s a pleasant enough dinner companion."

He shook open the newspaper and did not seem to require an answer.

That afternoon, Mr Stark was in the library when Miss Carter phoned. Jarvis assumed she wished to ensure that Mr Stark was well, and so the announcement of her visit was an unexpected delight.

"She accepted your invitation?"

"Yes. Looks like the SSR’s new branch isn’t organised yet, and they need her help." His voice was brittle. 

Jarvis hesitated, worried any misstep would cause Mr Stark to withdraw. 

"Please make up the green bedroom. It has a particularly life-like portrait."

"All your portraits are exceptional, sir." Jarvis hoped his smile wasn’t too obviously indulgent.

He spent the rest of the day seeing to Mr Stark’s departure and Miss Carter’s arrival. In a moment of inspiration, he ordered fresh flowers for every room. Jubilant, he also inquired with Ana about guest gifts.

"Edwin, guest gifts are brought _by_ the guest. Not offered _to_ the guest."

"Well, yes. I know that, dear." His tone peeved to his own ears. He tried again, "A few Los Angeles delicacies would not go amiss. Miss Carter is visiting the West Coast for the first time."

"And you would like her to visit often?"

Jarvis couldn’t quite meet Ana’s gaze. He fiddled with his cufflinks. "Surely, if Mr Stark wishes to host her again. And if her busy schedule permits—"

Ana patted his chest, not unkindly. "Leave it to me, dear."

Busy with preparations, Jarvis did not notice Mr Stark dip into his liquor cabinet nor that he had left a note in the kitchen requesting fondue for dinner.

By nine that evening, Mr Stark had dived to the bottom of a pot of cheese and two bottles of Sauvignon Blanc.

 

*

 

After dinner, Mr Stark switched from white wine to Bourbon and kitchen to living room.

It felt rather like enabling the man to pour him drinks when he was in this state; Mr Stark trudged to the radio, clinging to furniture for support as he made his way across the room. He fiddled with the dials, brusque twists to change stations. From the bar, Jarvis saw his frown deepen until he settled on a station. Chopin’s Nocturne no 20 was coming to a close.

Mr Stark flopped into the armchair beside the radio and extended his hand expectantly. Jarvis offered the glass and was dismissed.

He checked on Mr Stark regularly during the evening. Shortly before eleven, he had reached a talkative mood.

"So I’ve decided. I want flamingo. For the oree—, the —range, the… Jarvis?"

"Sir?"

"I want to finish those things… the, um." Mr Stark slumped over the armrest, his body leaning dangerously. His limp arm pointed at the window.

"The gardens, sir?"

"Yes! That’s the one."

Jarvis hesitated. "Should I fetch the lists?" 

The stratagem had failed and Jarvis balked at the idea of having to carry it out any longer. True, the grounds had needed improvements, but ushering Mr Stark into decisions now seemed contrived and cruel.

"I want it to be pretty for Peggy’s visit."

"I have prepared the green bedroom for Miss Carter. She will have a lovely view to the orangery and gazebo."

"Pink. I want flamingo pink."

Inebriated as he was, Jarvis thought it a waste of breath to correct Mr Stark's syntax. 

"Yes, sir. Duly noted. A flamingo for the gardens. If I may? Perhaps you could postpone your trip with miss Diaz?"

"What? No. No. Peggy doesn’t need me."

"Miss Carter values your help and friendship." The words were sharper than he had intended, but Miss Carter would not put up with this wallowing. Especially not on her account.

"Steve didn’t like fondue," Mr Stark mumbled into his drink. The ice cubes clinked restlessly. 

_Oh, dear._

"Or maybe it was a confu—. No." Mr Stark looked up at Jarvis for help, but he was at a loss. "A miss—. He… he thought it was something else."

Mr Stark turned to the window, body sagging against the chair’s cushions. The warm light of the stained glass lamp cast his face in drooping shadows.

"Rest would do you good, sir."

Mr Stark nodded and allowed Jarvis to gently lead him to his bedroom. He took extra cares with the man this evening. He went so far as to stand guard outside the room, as Mr Stark completed his ablutions.

The day had taken its toll. Threading heavily to the kitchen, Jarvis rolled his shoulders and neck, grimacing at the small popping sounds.

Ana was already there, dishtowel in hand.

"Darling, I said I would take care of everything."

"It's all right," Ana soothed him. "You had other things on your mind tonight."

Jarvis fell into the routine of putting away dishes. The crooning of Billie Holiday enveloped them.

"Miss Carter will do him some good," Ana said as if they had been discussing the matter. She nodded to herself and smiled brightly at Jarvis.

"Of that I have no doubt."

 

*

 

"This visit is off to a bit of a snag," Miss Carter said not quite meeting Jarvis’s eyes. She handed Ana another cotton ball.

"He has had worse. Edwin takes his training regimen very seriously, don’t you dear?"

Jarvis was reclining on a kitchen chair, his head hanging over the back rest. Blindly, he reached towards Miss Carter to pat her hand.

"Yes, much worse. Please don’t trouble yourself on my account. As long as nothing appears to be broken?"

"Flawless profile, as ever," Ana teased. She took out the sting with a kiss to his cheekbone.

At the corner of his eye, Jarvis thought he saw Miss Carter hide a smirk.

"I don’t know which is worse: corrupt detectives, or Mr Stark’s menagerie," he lamented.

The day had been embarrassing. He had rested such hopes on his rigorous physical fitness routine, but it had been for naught; he proved no help at all to Miss Carter. Well, except as a chauffeur.

"This morning, when it woke me at dawn, I would have said the flamingo," Miss Carter said.

"I would not blame the flamingo, Mr Jarvis. After all it is the grass that wounded you." Ana smiled conspiratorially at Miss Carter.

_Ah, yes. There’s that as well._

"The grass!" 

Still dabbing his nose with a cotton ball, Jarvis shot a glare at Miss Carter.

"Poor dear, he slipped and cut his arm on the grass as he was wrestling Bernard."

"It was not a blade of grass. It was a palmetto. They have sharp leaves."

Now _that_ was definitely a smirk. 

"If I cannot provide assistance, at least I can provide amusement."

Miss Carter sobered instantly. "Today’s failure is on me, Mr Jarvis. Detective Henry could have caused a lot more harm, and I put you at risk."

"I have accompanied you before. I fully comprehend the dangers you face. While I am no match for a fully trained SSR agent, I ought to offer some support."

Miss Carter held his gaze for a long moment. She spoke slowly, as if weighing each word with care. "I hold no expectations, Mr Jarvis. Not from you."

There laid the crux of the matter. Jarvis attempted to hide his temper. 

He straightened and faced Miss Carter. "You have relied on me before and I want to assure you that you still can. Despite all evidence to the contrary. You will have to excuse a year’s worth of rust," he joked weakly.

Miss Carter’s smile was brittle and Jarvis felt no better. He tried to discreetly clear the lump in his throat.

"You are both being ridiculous," Ana said, oddly cheerful. "The day didn’t turn out how you wanted, but this Detective Henry is the one who put you in danger." Ana shook her head sharply once, as if to shoo off a bothersome fly. "You are both safe and there’s no need to squabble over responsibility."

She gathered the first aid kid under her arm and squeezed their shoulders as she left.

"Quite right, my dear!" Jarvis called after his wife.

They sat in silence for a moment, awkward in the uncertainty that had settled over the room.

"Very tactile isn’t she?"

Jarvis fought his blush. "Ah, yes."

 

*

 

The visit to the Arena Club had improved put both Miss Carter and Mr Stark’s spirits. Miss Carter felt she was one step closer to exonerating Doctor Wilkes, and Mr Stark had quite enjoyed turning the establishment up on its head for an hour.

It was a rare occurrence to see them both at ease with their dinner partner and, at least for now, relatively content.

Jarvis also had cause for celebration after maneuvering Bernard into his enclosure. Oh, and he had helped Miss Carter escape a potentially dangerous situation at the club, he reflected, pleased.

They were enjoying a late dinner on the mansion’s terrace and Jarvis privately agreed with Mr Stark; at this hour the setting sun cast a glow on the gardens. Picturesque, indeed.

"Will you be shooting at the mansion?"

Mr Stark looked up at Jarvis, squinting against the sun. "Shooting?"

"Miss Diaz thought the gardens could be used for moving pictures."

"Miss Diaz? Is that your location scout, Howard?"

"Yes."

"What’s the matter? Is she angry about another of your conquest?"

"No that’s the problem. Turns out she was only interested in my real estate."

Jarvis bit down on his lips, but Miss Carter had no such scruples; she burst out laughing.

"Yeah. Yeah. Laugh it up. I actually think you and her would get along." Altogether, it did not sound like a compliment.

Set on being contrary, Miss Carter grinned and toasted Mr Stark. "I would love to meet another woman able to withstand your charm."

"Miss Diaz has left a message. She would like to know if you agree to let her use one of the properties in September. Shall I convey your refusal?"

"Put her off for now. I just don’t know if I want my privacy invaded like that."

"Which house?" asked Miss Carter.

"Some beach-side villa."

"Howard, just how much time have you lived in that house?"

"Beside the day we spent there? None. But it's the principle of the thing. I can't have whole picture crews stomping in, making themselves at home and leaving the place in shambles."

"So it's better to leave someone else's home in shambles?"

"Exactly!"

"Oh, _Howard_!"

"What? I spend an inordinate amount of time refurbishing my houses."

"You mean: Jarvis spends an inordinate amount of time refurbishing your homes. Along with a team of professionals."

"Thank you, Miss Carter!"

"I see how it is! You two have been spending too much time together. Well, Peggy was my friend first, and Jarvis was my… Jarvis first. And don’t either of you forget it."

Even before Mr Stark had finished speaking, Jarvis could sense the righteous anger emanating from Miss Carter. He cut in quickly, "And I am eternally grateful for the introduction to Miss Carter. Might I add that it has been a pleasure to work for you, sir? »

"Thank you, Jarvis. You’re a true pal." Mr Stark patted him on the back. "Peggy, has Jarvis shown you the menagerie, yet?"

"How could I miss it?"

 

*

 

As it turned out, Mr Stark had missed a critical change to the menagerie.

The next morning, Jarvis found a barefooted Mr Stark by the enclosure at half-past six, clad in rumpled pyjamas and a bathrobe. Evidently he had just slipped out of bed. Presumably awoken and drawn outside by the choked squawking of the flamingo.

Mr Stark slipped his sunglasses out of a pocket and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Can't you make it stop?"

"I’m afraid not. If you wait another half hour, the flamingo is mostly quiet during the day."

"I’ll be awake by then. Fine," Mr Stark sighed. "Coffee."

When Jarvis returned with a fresh cup, Miss Carter had joined Mr Stark by the enclosure. They silently observed the birds flapping their wings and chasing one another for a while before the coffee took effect.

"Jarvis, why is there a flamingo at my house?"

"You requested Bernard’s addition, sir."

"No, I didn’t."

Jarvis exchanged a glance with Miss Carter that spoke volumes about Mr Stark’s "steel trap" of a memory.

"On the night…before your scouting trip, you asked for a pink flamingo for the menagerie," Jarvis prompted.

"No, I asked for flamingo pink for the orangery."

Jarvis stared, dumbfounded.

"I was giving you my choice of tile colour from Ana’s selection."

"Ah, I see."

Beside them, Miss Carter was laughing, joyous.

**Author's Note:**

> [In case you're wondering what flamingos sound like.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5F-6fGzqlpo)


End file.
